


there's a little spark that still burns on

by Idhren15



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Captivity, Dehumanization, Eventual Rescue, Hopeful Ending, Hurt, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) Whump, My Last Work In This Fandom, Presumed Dead, Sensory Deprivation, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29560203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idhren15/pseuds/Idhren15
Summary: On a mission for the Blade of Marmora, Keith is captured by Lotor, and made to suffer for his allegiances.But despite the pain and humiliation, he never truly gives up hope, that his team will find him.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 58





	there's a little spark that still burns on

**Author's Note:**

> I found this work in my docs, from Feb 2019... and even though I'm not in Voltron fandom anymore, I kinda liked this, and thought I'd share :) 
> 
> this is my final goodbye to the voltron fandom, I guess. with a nice load of angst, 'cause that's my style XD

Keith shivered, wrapping his arms around his unclothed chest in an effort to retain some warmth. The collar around his neck did nothing to help, but he was used to its weight and feel by now, all sense of time drifting away with the essence of his being. His fingers twitched, itching to try and prise the blasted metal band off his head, but every time he'd tried, a shock went through the collar that left him twitching on the ground at best, and unconscious for minutes at worst.

No-one was coming for him, he knew it, he'd come to terms with that ages ago. He didn't make it onto the Blade's extraction ship, and they wouldn't come back for him.

He just never expected to be caught by _Lotor_ , of all people.

It had confirmed his fears- that Lotor was as bad as his father, just in a different way- but he had no way of getting that information to the Blades or to Voltron.

He was collared, blindfolded, chained to a wall and left there until Lotor decided to bother with him. At first, he'd expected an interrogation, but the prince was surprisingly hospitable. He offered Keith food, shelter, his sight back- if only Keith joined him. One half-breed to another.

Keith told him to stick that request where the sun don't shine.

But over time, it became harder to resist. No-one whipped him or beat him, but they left him in a cold cell, chained to the wall like a dog on a leash, so he could barely move a metre. Lotor's visits became less frequent, arriving with a drink only when Keith thought he was going to die from the thirst, food only when the hunger began to consume him. He was wasting away, he could feel his muscles atrophy, all the hard-earned body weight dropping off, and there was nothing he could do about it.

There was one thing, but he wouldn't go there. He wouldn't betray his friends. He _wouldn't_.

Keith hated that he started to long for Lotor's visits, knowing full well that was exactly where the manipulative dog wanted him. His mind was dwelling far too long on unimportant things, the days blending into weeks and months, marked only by erratic sleep and visits from Lotor. He started to forget why he had to fight in the first place, almost accepting the offers before something deep within grounded him, refused to let him give up.

He would likely die here, in the cold and dark, but at least he wouldn't be a traitor.

Alas, the universe was not that kind.

Lotor came with disgusting, goo-like food and a glass of something bitter, but Keith was too weak to even raise his head. Dimly he thought that the gap had been even longer this time, but his mouth was far too dry, his stomach shrivelled into nothing, head pounding from the severe dehydration.

He didn't care anymore. He couldn't move; he was already dead.

The prince clearly didn't get the memo, as he called for someone, and Keith was suddenly being lifted, taken from the horrible cell for the first time since he'd arrived there. The remnants of his mind screamed at him to _fight_ , but his body was too exhausted, too weak, and he could do nothing but let himself slump in the arms of whoever was holding him. It wasn't Lotor; the hands wrapped around him were slightly furry, and he was pretty certain that the prince _didn't_ have hairs on his hands.

He was set on another cold surface, smoother than that of the cell floor, and something pricked his arm- a needle, he presumed- then he faded into unconsciousness.

When he woke, his whole body ached, and something felt _off_ , but his throat and stomach weren't screaming protest, so he wasn't going to complain. His fingers twitched, feeling soft fabric underneath them, and with a jolt Keith realised he'd been moved again. He was curled up on some sort of blanket, the texture heavenly to skin that had only been subjected to a cold, hard floor for so long, and for a moment he didn't bother to get up. Tracing the fabric, he realised that it was, in fact, a rather large cushion, one at least big enough to house his body.

But why was he on a cushion in the first place?

Frowning, Keith's hands flew to his neck, finding the metal collar to still be present. He tentatively stretched his fingers up to the thick band over his eyes, bracing himself for the shock, but it never came. The metal was tight against his skin, moulded over the bridge of his nose, tucking under his hair in a seamless band close to his skull. He gently pulled at it, grimacing when the motion did nothing but aggravate the soreness, once again resigning himself to his state of blindness. Even if he did get the contraption off, he doubted he would be able to see, anyway; his eyes had been in the dark for as long as he'd been a captive.

However long that was.

Keith strained his ears, and when he could hear no other signs of life, he tried to stand up. Bad move. His legs were like jelly, centre of gravity completely off, and he crumpled back down instantly, the familiar sound of chains rattling alerting him to the fact that he was still chained like a animal to a wall. But it was a different wall, he realised, stretching his hand out to trace the smooth texture.

Where was he?

Panic started to creep in, and Keith forced himself to breathe, clenching the cushion beneath him as a grounding measure. Without his sight, his other senses had grown stronger, but the sudden unfamiliarity completely threw him off. Combined with the fact that his body still didn't feel right, Keith was experiencing an emotion he'd long forgotten.

 _Fear_.

He was scared.

Scared of what this new change would bring, scared that the fate he'd accepted was no longer the case, scared that something worse than death awaited him.

It felt like hours before footsteps sounded, and Keith sat bolt upright immediately, turning his head in the direction of the sound.

"I trust you find your new quarters more to your liking?" Lotor purred. Keith tensed.

"What?" he whispered brokenly, his voice crackling with disuse.

"You were wasting away in that cell, and I couldn't have that," Lotor continued, "So I changed your home. Congratulations."

There was no joy in his tone, and Keith barely resisted the urge to scoot into the corner and curl up.

"Wh-where am I?" he stammered, his hand rubbing the cushion's fabric with more fervour, dread seeping into his bones.

"In my throne room," Lotor answered casually, and Keith froze. One hand reached out tentatively, finding the wall behind him to actually dip up slightly- and with horror, he realised it wasn't a wall at all.

It was a throne.

Zarkon's throne.

 _Lotor's_ throne.

Oh, _quiznak_. He was chained to Lotor's throne.

"Quite fitting, isn't it?" Lotor laughed, "A former paladin, so bent on tearing down the Empire, now a slave to its throne."

Keith clenched his fists and ground his teeth together. He was _not_ a slave. He wouldn't lift a finger for anyone in this damn Empire.

"Oh, don't worry," Lotor purred, "I won't make you do anything. You just have to sit there, and look pretty." One clawed hand caressed his cheek, and Keith shuddered. "You have such a pretty face," Lotor murmured, and Keith tried to scowl, but the fear was locking his muscles in place.

"Lotor?"

The prince's hand fell away from Keith, and he exhaled, cringing back against the side of the throne as one of Lotor's generals entered- Ezor, he guessed, from the lighter tone.

"He's all yours," Lotor said dismissively, and Keith's heart sank further.

Ezor hauled him roughly to his feet, and he swayed, his centre of balance still off. "Change into these," she commanded, shoving a pile of silky cloth into his hands- clothes, he realised. He managed to separate the two garments, first pulling on a pair of loose, flowing trousers over the underwear he thankfully still had on, then the thin jacket, which covered his back and arms but didn't appear to do up at the front. The slippery fabric of the top felt like the kind that would be transparent, and Keith wished once again that he could actually see.

"Hmm, not bad for a blind person," Ezor quipped, and Keith bristled. He wasn't blind, just blindfolded. There was a difference.

Ezor ordered him to sit down again, and he obeyed, weariness already creeping back into his body. She slipped some bands onto his wrists and ankles, then set to work tugging at his hair. Keith realised it was actually pretty long, brushing against his shoulders once Ezor had untangled all the knots, a visible reminder of how long he'd been stuck in the cell.

Of how long he'd been a prisoner, and no-one had come for him.

"What are you doing?" he dared to whisper as she fussed more with his hair. He hated being touched, but his hair was the one thing he didn't mind other people treating- in fact, he found it quite soothing, and hated that one of his enemies was making him feel that way.

"Making you look prettier, of course," Ezor chirped, "If you're going to be a pet at the Empire's feet, you need to at least look good."

Keith growled, the spark in his chest hindered by isolation and starvation slowly creeping back to life. "I am _not_ a pet," he hissed, trying to pull away from Ezor.

"Now now, Keith," Lotor chided, strolling back over to them, "We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. You sit there, and don't do anything unless I tell you to. If you're good, you will get meals twice a day, and toilet privileges each morning."

"And if I don't comply?" Keith spat back. He could almost visualise the smirk on Lotor's face as a shock went through his collar- not only the collar, but his wrists and ankles too, electricity surging through his body and leaving him gasping at the foot of the throne. The shocks stopped, but Keith was still shaking, his hands and feet twitching uselessly as he could do nothing but lie in front of Lotor.

"I hate you," he spat out.

"Shame. I thought I'd killed the fire in you, but I suppose that wasn't the case," Lotor commented dryly. His hand grabbed Keith's chin, pulling the ex-paladin's face towards him, which was slightly ironic considering that he couldn't see.

"The fire will die, though," Lotor whispered, "Unless, of course, you want to join me. Just think. You could be free, a general in my ranks. Or you can sit here, as a- pet, slave, however you wish to phrase it- living out the rest of your miserable days in complete obedience."

Keith snorted despite the pain. "Obedience has never been my strong point," he managed to say.

"I'd even consider giving you your sight back," Lotor mused, and Keith had never felt so tempted. Did he want to sit like a damned dog by the Emperor's throne? Of course not! But did he want to betray his friends, his allies? Even less so.

He'd sacrifice his sight, suffer humiliation, but he would _not_ betray them.

Keith raised his head as best as he could. "I will never join you," he ground out, "You dirty, cheating, quiznaking son of a-"

The shock collar was activated before he could finish, his harsh words turning into cries of pain.

"Very well," Lotor said coldly, "Zethrid, add the last piece."

Keith groaned as he was hauled back into a sitting position on the cushion, rough hands shoving something over his mouth and binding it around the back of his head. It drew tight around his jaw, forcing his mouth closed, and he whimpered as he realised what it was.

A muzzle.

The hands moved away, and his own immediately flew to the muzzle, finding it surprisingly soft to touch. Then he realised that was because a silky cloth covered it, likely appearing to be a decorative bandana of sorts. The muzzle was bound far too tight, exacting such pressure on his nose, and he hated Lotor for taking away yet another one of his senses. He didn't dare try to take it off, knowing that doing so would only result in another shock, and his body couldn't handle another in such a short space of time.

Keith leaned against the throne, exhaustion and pain finally taking over.

"Good boy," Lotor murmured, gently patting his head, but he didn't have the energy to fight. He was blind, mute, weak, chained up, and utterly helpless for once in his life.

Keith settled into the same messed-up routine, as much as he hated it. The first week or so of his new situation, he made every effort to break free, but the shock collar and withheld meals caused him to succumb to weakness, spending two days lying on the cushion with no energy for anything else. After that, he stopped the deliberate fighting, deciding to bide his time and regain as much strength as he could from the two strange-tasting, meagre meals he was allowed. The meals were the only time the muzzle was taken off, but he learned quickly to not try and talk in those instances. Lotor kept making false promises of removing the muzzle permanently, but it was always shoved back on, keeping Keith from making any but the smallest of sounds. Every time the straps dug into his face he felt himself sink deeper and deeper into despair, beginning to lose a sense of who he was.

The routine was dull and continuous, days lost in the monotony of it all, the spark in his chest dimming lower and lower until it was barely visible. He would wake up, relieve himself, eat, sit by the Emperor's throne until it was time to eat again, and then he slept. Every so often Ezor would come by and brush his hair, or rub a cleansing oil on his skin, or offer him a change of clothes that he had no choice but to accept. She would talk to him, but it was pointless, as he couldn't reply even if he wanted to.

Time passed, and he drifted, his mind frequently left to wander as he endured each day in silence. Lotor seemed to like holding meetings and conferences in the throne room, and he always knew when it was a new group of galra, as the prince made a point of 'introducing' Keith. He didn't use the ex-paladin's name, simply referring to him as a rebel and a traitor who was now completely subservient, no longer his own person, a threat of what would happen to those who disobeyed Lotor. At first Keith bristled at the terms, trying to resist when Lotor commanded him to stand and turn around like a creature on display, but as the weeks dragged on and time blended together he simply obeyed, the words no longer having an impact on him.

After all, who was he? He had been someone, once. Someone important, he thinks, but someone bad as well. That's why he had his sight taken, and his voice taken, because he was bad. He sits by the throne of the Emperor to be good, to make up for all the bad things he did. It bothers him slightly that he can't remember what exactly those bad things were, but he figures that may be a blessing. If they were truly that bad, then at least he is not haunted by them.

In dreams he sees people, faces, and they seem familiar somehow but he doesn't remember. They were important, too, though clearly not that important as he doesn't remember their names.

There is a day when he doesn't remember his name, or if he even had one in the first place.

The Emperor calls him 'boy', if he's good, and 'mutt' if he's not, or sometimes worse terms than he doesn't like to think of. They're terms, but not names, so he settles on the belief that he's not worthy enough of a name. He's done too many bad things, he doesn't deserve a name, doesn't deserve to be known as a person.

He was somebody, but now he's nobody, and that's all he's going to be.

* * *

Shiro was getting worried. It had been a month now since the Blades had last made contact, two months since he'd last spoken to Keith. His friend had been excited to go a new mission, right into Lotor's territory, and Shiro had warned him to be careful. Keith, more danger-seeking than ever, had laughed and promised he'd be fine.

If he was fine, why hadn't he called?

A month and two days since their last contact, the Blades finally reported in, something about a new drug the druids were working on, one that would sap the life, will, and identity from its victims. Shiro was only half-listening, eyes searching for the familiar, short Blade.

He wasn't there.

Kolivan continued his report, Allura listening attentively, but Shiro couldn't take it any longer. "Where's Keith?" he asked, and Kolivan's face became even colder.

"He didn't make it out from the last mission. I am sorry I did not tell you sooner."

Shiro felt something in his chest shatter. "No," he murmured, "He can't be dead. He's not dead!"

Kolivan shifted uncomfortably. "We looked for him," he said lowly, like it was some sort of confession, "We've been looking for him for over a phoeb, but there's nothing. He's gone."

"No," Shiro growled, shrugging off Allura's hand as she tried to ground him, "No. He's not dead. He can't be dead."

Keith- his friend, the lonely foster kid he'd grown to love as a younger brother- couldn't be dead. He was too much of a fighter for that.

Shiro stormed out the room, barely collecting himself before he realised he had to tell the other paladins about Keith's disappearance. Hunk burst into tears, Pidge screamed, Lance said and did absolutely nothing, and Shiro did a weird mix of all three, an incoherent yell followed by sobs and a period of staring blankly into nothing. They were all acting as if he was dead, but they couldn't give up.

They couldn't.

Keith had to still be alive.

Nine months had passed since that day, ten months since Keith's disappearance, five months since his funeral.

They never found him, and after four months of searching every corner of the galaxy, they gave up.

Shiro hated admitting that. He told Keith he'd never give up on him, but here he was. He'd given up. It felt like a betrayal, but there was nothing else he could do but accept the cruel reality that Keith was dead.

They had to move on.

Lotor's control of the Empire was tightening, and with the paladins' grief Voltron had not been as present as it should have. He was kinder than his father, more diplomatic, but it appeared that he used it to hide a much darker side. There were rumours of mind-altering drugs that he used on disobedient soldiers, and a few sources claimed that Lotor had his own personal slaves. The thought of anyone being treated in such a manner angered Shiro greatly, and he swore to get his justice on Lotor for all the evil he'd committed.

And it seemed like they finally had an opportunity.

Lotor's generals were on a private mission, but Lotor himself was at the repaired central command, where five different Blade agents were planted. They were confident they could shut down the systems enough to enable the paladins to get in and capture Lotor.

Shiro wanted to kill him, but he'd settle for behind bars.

They split up once successfully on the ship, Shiro opting to take the throne room as he figured that was Lotor's most likely location. Lance accompanies him, his bayard formed into a rifle ready to take out any sentries. The Blade's system shutdown has worked so far, but they have to be on alert.

Disappointment shoots through Shiro as he finds the throne room void of Lotor, and he is about to leave when Lance grabs his arm.

"There's another life form here," he murmurs, gesturing to his sensor. Shiro scans the room for the supposed person, his eyes finally setting on a huddled shape near the throne.

The two men advance slowly, Lance stopping and gasping in horror as they take in the person's appearance. They are galra, and painfully thin, clad only in a loose, see-through red jacket and a slightly thicker pair of purple trousers. Harsh bands of gold wrapped around the pale purple wrists and ankles, appearing to be ornamental but Shiro doubts that is the case. The galra's catlike tail sags lifelessly behind them, and their feline ears droop amongst a waterfall of black hair which cascades past their shoulders. Shiro's breath catches as he notices the shock collar around the galra's neck, connected via a chain to a ring at the base of the Emperor's throne. But worst of all is the galra's face: a thick, gold band hugs their cheeks, covering their eyes completely, and a bandana wraps around the lower part of their face, though as the paladins draw closer they see that the decorative red cloth actually serves to hide a muzzle.

"Quiznak," Lance breathes, his body shaking, "Lotor does have slaves."

Shiro's fist clenches. "We have to free them."

Lance climbs the rest of the stairs, needing no further encouragement. The galra whimpers as he approaches, so he soothes them as much as he could.

"Shh, it's alright. I'm a paladin of Voltron. I'm going to help you, okay?"

The galra tenses up, but nods, and Lance immediately set to work removing the cruel muzzle. Once it's free, the galra gasps for breath, and Lance fights back tears at the scars marking the poor creature's face from where the straps had rubbed.

"You're safe now," Lance murmurs as Shiro uses his hand to cut away the shock collar and the cuffs. The galra trembles and presses into his shoulder, very clearly touch starved.

"N-name?" they whisper hoarsely, voice rough from not being used.

"I'm the red paladin. Lance," he answers, and the galra pulls back slightly.

"L-lance?" they stammer, and quiznak, the voice seems so familiar, and Lance studies their face with a sudden hope, absorbing the lines of the cheekbones and the shape of the nose and the way the fringe flops over that horrendous device on their eyes...

"Keith?" he dares to ask, and the galra lets out a sob, throwing his arms around Lance.

"Y-you came," he cries, "They made me forget, I forgot you, but I heard your voices and I started to remember b-but I thought it might've been a t-trick..." He stammers and stumbles over the words, and though it's changed the voice is so obviously Keith's that Shiro crosses the rest of the distance and joins the embrace.

"Shiro," Keith sobs, and Shiro holds his brother tight, almost in a state of disbelief. Because Keith is there, he is alive - different and scarred, but alive - and he forgets the whole purpose of the mission before Pidge contacts them on the comms.

"No sign of Lotor here, any luck?" she grumbles.

"No Lotor, but we have luck," Shiro replies, smiling down at Keith.

"Hey, Pidge," Keith says into the comm, and there is a moment's silence before the green paladin screams.

"Keith! Keith is that you?" she yells.

Keith's scarred, purple lips curl up into a smile. "Yeah. It's me."

"Come on, let's get you back to the castle," Shiro suggests, and Keith nods, though he can barely walk on his thin legs. Shiro scoops him up without question, and Lance covers their backs as they run, precious cargo in Shiro's arms.

By the time they make it back to the castle, Keith's unconscious, exhaustion evident in his face. Coran immediately sets him up with the altean equivalent of an IV, fussing over what to do about his eyes.

"It's likely he's had that on for a long time," Coran notes, "It will take a while to regain his sight."

Shiro adds that to his reasons-I-need-to-kill-Lotor list.

The other paladins join them, only mildly surprised at Keith's new, more-galran form, all of them just elated that Keith is alive.

When the initial excitement calms down, and Coran is certain Keith's stable, Lance and Shiro recount how they found Keith, and Hunk has to leave the room, the sound of retching greeting their ears before the crying. Shiro heads out to comfort Hunk, and Pidge traces Keith's purple hand in a state of shock.

Allura, too, is horrified at the thought of what Keith must've suffered, and demands that they work on a solution to Keith's eye problem. When Shiro returns with a heartbroken Hunk, Coran and Pidge have managed to remove the metal band, and Lance immediately covers Keith's eyes with a soft bandage. The skin where the metal dug in is red and raw, and Allura quickly rubs altean cream over the marks, hoping they won't scar.

Then, they bundle Keith into a pod, to give him nutrients he's been missing for so long, everyone averting their eyes to his too-thin body.

"Will he be okay?" Pidge finally asks, her voice cracking.

Coran glances over the medical reports, then turns back to the paladins with a small smile.

"Yes. I think he will be."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who's read this, and my other Voltron works.
> 
> I won't be continuing the Kit's Blade series. I don't have the love or inspiration for this fandom anymore. 
> 
> This is my last contribution, which I don't even remember writing lol. thanks to 2019 Ren for completing this oneshot XD
> 
> I'm still writing, just for different fandoms now :)


End file.
